It’s currently December of 1965, right on Christmas day. The both of you had spent the majority of the day apart, with your families (only difference being John was obligated to be there by Mimi), but John had promised to spend at least some of the holiday with you, and he fully intended on keeping that promise.

It was about 7:30 in the evening, and John had miraculously escaped the typical, family ‘Happy Chrimbo’ dinner. He wasted no time in making a beeline for your place, which was only a few blocks away. He eventually rang your doorbell with icy fingers, a gift for you in one hand, and his snow-covered hat in the other. He had a crooked smile on his face; a thick coat adorning his torso; his hair messy; his nose and cheeks a rosy pink hue due to the cold, English, holiday air; and his face illuminated by the nearby Christmas lights adorning numerous houses along the contrastingly cozy neighbourhood.

His face lit up with warmth when you opened the door; your body lined in Christmas pyjamas, your hair adorning a classic Santa hat, and faint Christmas music playing in the background. Your young niece came running up to the door with you to see who it was, and she immediately beamed, too, at the sight of John. You opened the door for him with a warm smile and offered him a sip of your hot cocoa, to which he happily accepted.

“Hi, baby. Hope I’m not interrupting your Christmas.” He said with a tender smile and wink, handing back your hot cocoa after taking a warm sip, along with a small gift box, which was presumably for you — as it had your name written on the tag in an endearingly messy cursive.